


Regrets and Mistakes Their Memories Made

by readtolive



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Declarations Of Love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Jealous Derek, Jealous Stiles, Kind of angsty, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Possessive Behavior, Sex, The pack wants to stage an intervention, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-13 17:40:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20178181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/readtolive/pseuds/readtolive
Summary: This is a story about Derek and Stiles.That's it, that's the summary.NB: If this looks familiar, it's because this is the series I have already posted before, but I hated it as a series (it was just so scattered) so I'm now reposting it, with slight tweaks, as a single multiple chapter story





	1. Bad Reason

**Author's Note:**

> Derek sleeps with Stiles because virgins are being sacrificed and he wants to keep him out of harm's way.
> 
> He loses Stiles in the process.

“I took care of that,” Derek says, glaring across the room.

Scott’s face drops in shock. “What?”

"_I said_", Derek growls, which, weirdly enough, does not seem to hinder his angry enunciation. "That our problem--"

"Not _our_ problem," Jackson rudely interrupts.

"-- has been taken care of," Derek finishes, choosing to ignore Jackson. Which, knowing Jackson's proclivity towards shady comments and highly questionable moral and other standards, is probably the smartest thing to do. 

The thing is, despite Scott's shock, _everybody_ in the room knows exactly what Derek is talking about, even Jackson - hence his objection. Because, even though it is, _was _(if Derek is to be trusted), Stiles' problem technically, Stiles is pack, so. 

But the whole idea seemed ridiculous. Whatever Derek did, and Derek wasn't the type to solve pack's problems on his own to begin with, he definitely couldn't have killed the darach single-handedly. It was impossible, no matter how hard he wanted to stop the virgin sacrifices. Hell, they all wanted it just as badly - Stiles in particular, of course. Also, there was no way he would have gotten involved with anything even remotely related to Stiles’ case of chronic virginity. What could he have possibly done?

Scott’s eyes fly from Derek to Stiles in rapid succession.

Stiles remains stock still, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, fingers clutching around his sharp elbows. Completely out of character, he is silent and motionless, so the pack starts getting nervous. The tension is palpable and it feels like there isn’t enough air in the room.

Lydia frowns. "Stiles?"

Jackson leers at the alpha. “What, did you hire him a hooker? Wow,” he drawls lasciviously. “I must say I'm impressed. My opinion about your alphaness has just risen up a peg or two. Way to go, boss.”

Lydia smacks him across the arm. “Let’s not joke about this, thank you.”

She turns towards her alpha. “Derek, are you sure? We can’t afford the risk, as I already explained to you in great detail.”

Derek frowns at her, despising this challenge of his competence. He’s not an idiot.

“Yes!” Stiles finally peels himself off the wall, standing awkwardly and looking at no one in particular. He clears his throat. “It’s been taken care of. Virginity gone. Woohoo! A hooker, yes. Or not. It doesn’t matter. Anyway, you don’t have to worry about it anymore. One less problem for the pack, definitely. Can we just drop it now, please, and focus on our imminent and certain deaths if we don't kill the darach...” He remains in the shadier part of the loft, hoping that his face isn’t burning too much and that the pack ticks off the frantic beating of his heart as typical Stiles embarrassment.

“No, I just need to know if renting hookers is on the pack menu now. I won’t be deprived of my rights,” Jackson grins, ignoring Lydia’s nails digging into his forearm. “What, it’s not like Stilinski’s desperation can be the only reason we can afford regular sexing up. It could boost the pack morale, I'm just saying. Derek there looks like he could use some.”

Boyd and Erica roll their eyes simultaneously, used to Jackson's bullshit but refusing to be subjected to it any more than necessary, so they stand up from the couch. “If that’s all… we’re gonna go, alpha.”

Erica turns towards Stiles and smiles at him, her locks shaking as she nods her head in clear approval. “You know you could have come to me, baby, I would have gladly helped you out.” 

She says it kindly and honestly, and Stiles believes her, but Derek starts growling again from his corner and _that_ is Stiles’ cue to leave. He can’t take another pissing contest right now. “I have to go, too. My dad… I need to make dinner. Yeah.” He hurries past everyone, ignoring Jackson’s lewd whistle, and flees the loft as fast as he can, feeling Derek’s eyes burning holes into his back. He just needs to go, right this very moment, and not look at anyone for a while.

***

After a few days of some deep thinking and self-analysis at the privacy of his own home, Stiles decides he's not going to be sorry about the entire thing.

He _chooses_ to have no regrets. Why would he be sorry? He honestly can't regret that it was Derek. He did have this epic crush on the man after all, fantasizing obsessively in both sexual and non-sexual ways about their relationship, but it wasn't like Stiles harbored some futile hopes or anything. He was fully aware that the chances of his fantasies coming to life were less than zero, but that never stopped him. He just couldn’t help it.

He used to imagine that Derek was in love with him, finding proof in Derek’s lingering glances, constant little touches and obvious stubborn determination to keep Stiles uninjured and alive at any cost. Now that he thinks about it, Stiles can’t help but laugh at his own blindness – of course Derek slept with him so that he could keep Stiles out of trouble. Of course. Derek is just that kind of guy. He would do anything. Stiles can’t believe it didn’t cross his mind once when it happened. He was completely blindsided.

In his defense, pretty weak but still, it was very difficult for Stiles - it _still_ is - to believe that anyone would do such a thing. He takes matters of love very seriously. Just to think that someone could give themselves for reasons unrelated to emotions is unimaginable to him. Not to mention, that even though he was pretty certain he never gave anything away, Derek somehow _knew_. That's what Stiles thought. That it was reciprocal, in a I-like-you-and-I-know-you-like-me-so-let's-do-something-about-it kind of way.

Huge mistake.

Also, he did try to ask Derek. They came back to his place together that night, Derek and he, because Derek wanted to make sure he was fine after their night long stake out at the preserve. It had been raining constantly, with Stiles crouching in the bushes, Derek’s jacket as his only cover, trying not to complain too much since Derek spent the entire time in his t-shirt only, looming over Stiles like a protective bear that he was.

So, when Stiles stood shirtless in the middle of his room, shivering and wiping himself with a towel, and Derek planted a soft kiss onto the nape of his neck, Stiles gasped in a shock, but it was only a momentary kind of surprise. Speaking long term, which was what really mattered, Stiles' mind sent wave after wave of finally, finally, _finally_ all through his body.

He did turn towards Derek then, in question, wondering, wanting to know, what that was about. Why then. Was it possible? Was it true? He trembled in Derek's hands, feeling stupidly hopeful and achingly vulnerable. But Derek had this longing look in his eyes, a little bit sad, a little pleading, rain droplets still clinging to his eyelashes, and Stiles thought… he thought that Derek was just as sad as him, for not doing that sooner, for pining, for not acting on this mad crush for whatever stupid reasons…

Anyway. That’s what Stiles thought.

“Derek,” he tried to say, but Derek hugged him then, breathing across Stiles’ cheek, asking Stiles to kiss him in a pleading whisper.

So Stiles did. It never even crossed Stiles’ mind to doubt Derek’s motives then. He didn’t even think about them, sure that they were the same as his. Mad, epic love - what else?

Stiles made love to Derek for the first time that night, his first time ever - his only time with Derek, as it would turn out later - and it was even better than his fantasies.

Derek stayed with him until his dad came back from his shift, holding Stiles as if he was something precious to him, and Stiles didn’t even notice the lack of words, explanations, declarations, promises… Derek simply wasn’t a talkative guy and Stiles felt like he said it all with his body. That night, Stiles really believed that Derek loved him, that the entire night was a final, inevitable conclusion to their mutually shared feelings of a romantic kind.

Well, maybe Stiles regrets that one thing. For not noticing - not expecting - a clear and unequivocal declaration of intention. What you say and what you do... it all matters. That's why he can't be mad at Derek. He never promised him anything. It was all in Stiles' delusional mind.

***

There’s a knock on his window.

Stiles stops with his typing, straightens from his slouch over the laptop, and turns in his chair to see Derek peeking behind the glass. Calm and relaxed, Stiles stands up and opens the window to let him in. He even smiles a little. “Hey.”

Derek jumps in, but remains standing near the wall, serious and a little crazy looking, if Stiles is to say.

“What’s up?” Stiles tries.

Derek sighs and looks away for a moment, brushing his hands over his jeans. Looking like he’s steeling himself for something, he finds Stiles’ eyes again. “How are you?”

Stiles nods. “I’m good, I’m good. Why?”

Derek watches him intently. “You… haven’t been to the loft in a while. Two weeks,” Derek says and looks at his fingers. “Twelve days,” he specifies.

Stiles smiles a little, huffing through his nose. “Sorry about that. I… it wasn’t fully intentional. I needed some time, I guess. It’s… not because of you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Derek looks at him hopefully. “It isn't?”

“No,” Stiles shakes his head.

Derek clutches the wall behind himself. “You’re… you’re not mad?”

“Mad?” Stiles’ eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Why would I be mad?”

Derek blushes, squirming uncomfortably where he stands.

Frankly, Stiles is a little weirded out. He’s never seen his alpha in less than his monumental regalness.

“You have to know,” Derek starts, clumsy but determined. “I—I’m not sorry for what I have done.”

“Okay,” Stiles agrees. “I know. You shouldn’t be. Uh, thank you?”

Derek relaxes a little and nods in acceptance. He clearly expected a different reaction. He looks at Stiles curiously.

Stiles thinks this is it, that their conversation is now over. He gave Derek what he obviously came for, an assurance that Stiles is fine with what happened. An absolution. He expects Derek to leave now so that he can return to his work. The atmosphere is a little awkward, but that's their thing, they are both used to hefty amounts of awkwardness between themselves, so Stiles doesn't worry.

But Derek still stands there. “Are you?”

The question takes Stiles off guard. He understands it perfectly, but he tries to buy himself some time. “Am I what?”

“Sorry.”

Stiles wonders if he should try lying, if perhaps Derek’s too agitated to pick up on his traitorous heartbeat. But then, he decides against it. There really isn’t any reason why he should hide anything.

“Yes, but probably not about what you're expecting.”

Derek jerks a little anyways, but a flash of hurt is quickly replaced by stubborn determination. He swallows and licks his lips before squaring his shoulders, looking at Stiles defiantly. “Well. I am not going to apologize.”

Even though Derek doesn’t ask him why he is sorry, which Stiles is immensely grateful for, Stiles laughs and looks at Derek fondly. Because, although Derek did this shitty, shitty thing to him that most other people would be angry about, Stiles still thinks that he is a good man and that his intentions were good and noble. He says as much. “You’re a good man, Derek. I’m proud to be a part of your pack. Again, you have nothing to apologize for.”

At that, Derek smiles for the first time, a little tentatively, a little shocked, and comes closer to Stiles, putting his hand on Stiles’ shoulder.

Or trying to, because Stiles jerks back as if someone tasered him. “Hey! What are you doing? Don’t… don’t do that, please,” Stiles says softly but determinedly. What is this bullshit? Stiles almost regrets thinking that Derek's intentions were good now. What, did he come for another round? Stiles tries to shake off his bitterness because he doesn't like it, mentally chiding himself for thinking malicious thoughts.

Derek’s eyes blink at him, stunned and luminous. “Are you… Um. Can I – can I kiss you?”

“What?” Stiles frowns, puzzled.

Of all the things he expected Derek to want to do when he came here, that was definitely the last one. The non-existent one.

“Why would you want to do that? I’m out of danger now. Not a virgin anymore, remember? You took care of that, as you said. Your alpha duties are done. Why would you want to kiss me? Jesus,” Stiles blurts out, out of breath.

Derek sways in his place, alarmed. "What? I don't understand."

"Come on, Derek. What's not to understand? It's all clear."

Derek raises his hands in placating motion. “Stiles, I… it wasn’t a duty,” he breathes out and then blushes again. “It wasn’t _just_ a duty,” he amends. “I – you had to know, have to know that I, that I like you.”

Stiles full on laughs at that, throwing his head backwards, his whole body shaking. He brushes his hands over his face, exasperated. “Sorry. Sorry. Derek, I can’t believe it. I don’t believe you. I mean, scratch that, I believe that you believe it, sorry for not acknowledging your feelings, by the way,” he shakes his head. “And sorry for laughing. It's just... it doesn’t matter now anyway. Whatever happened, it’s over now. I want to forget it. Believe you me, it's for the best. I'm tired.”

"What do you mean, you want to forget it? Why? I'm telling you, I'm telling you my feelings, and I know that, I _think_ that you like me, too... I don't understand," Derek rushes his words out.

Stiles sighs. "I admit, I may have had some emotions, but... let's put it this way - after what happened, I think you're definitely not a man for me."

Derek’s eyes stare wetly at him. “Then why did you do it? Why did you sleep with me?”

Stiles feels so tired. He wants this conversation to be over, he wants Derek to leave. He really hates that he has to go through this. “I did it because I was in love with you and because I thought that you loved me back. I wanted you to be the one. To be my first. I thought you knew that. I thought you wanted me back at that time.”

“I do, I did, I – do,” Derek gasps out.

“Look… Derek… I don’t want to upset you, or make you feel bad, I honestly don’t,” Stiles tries to keep his voice calm. “But, I’ve been pining after you for years. You knew that, I know you did. But, Derek…” Stiles pauses, struggling for words. “You chose a wrong reason to approach me. A spectacularly wrong reason. Mortal peril is definitely not a good one for sleeping with someone for the first time, speaking from my standpoint… of a man in love. But,” Stiles adds hastily. “I really don’t blame you. I _don’t_. It’s just that… now I know that you don’t really love me. And that helps me to put things, to put my feelings into perspective. And recognize them as faulty."

Derek brushes his face with his hands. 

Stiles looks at Derek, trying to will him to understand. "I'm a hearts and flowers kind of guy, Derek. I'm not ashamed to say it. I don't know if you knew that. Loving someone, it's this huge, monumental thing that you cannot hide, don't want to hide. You want to declare it from the rooftops. You want to show that person how much they mean to you, how precious they are, day after day after day. And, I'm not mad at you, I'm really not, because it's not your fault that you don't love me. It isn't anyone's. It's just like it is. And I know it, because if you did, you wouldn’t have done it like that. That would have been the least … loving way to be with me, for the first time, for any time. If you loved me, you would have said it. If you loved me, you would never have talked about that night as a problem that had been fixed in front of the entire pack.”

Derek nods. "Right."

Derek doesn’t say anything, so Stiles continues. “I lost my virginity to you, Derek. For me, it's a big deal. Frankly, I expected more from you, but it's my mistake, my fault, not yours. I deluded myself that you loved me.”

“I do,” Derek’s words are barely above whisper, but his chest is heaving in and out in rapid succession. “I didn’t want you to die. I wanted to protect you. Because I do love you.”

"I don't know what to tell you. You're being deceitful, unintentionally, because you must have lied to me, either when you slept with me, or when you said you did it to protect me, which never even crossed my mind as a possibility, or when you said you loved me. Those are mutually exclusive. They can't all be true."

Derek looks like he is about to cry, which is pretty upsetting as a thing that has never happened before, but Stiles needs to get this right.

"You make me feel bad. You made me feel bad at the loft, and you're making me feel bad right now. That's not love. That night, well, that night was lovely, but only because I suffered from a delusion at the time." Stiles really doesn't want to be cruel, he only wants to be exact and precise. His life is in question here. He wants to choose wisely. "I have to tell you, Derek, this love declaration from you tonight also isn’t what I hoped for. Had hoped for. Or dreamed about, once. It definitely sounded different in my head for the past five years. Because I used to imagine in my head what it would be like, you loving me. It went much more romantic, for one."

Derek closes his eyes and plasters himself even more firmly against the wall.

"I’m sorry.” Stiles tries to clarify. “It’s really not your fault. See, I wanted to hear it for so long, I imagined you saying it, and it was never… like this. Like an explanation, like an apology, like you’re saying it to lessen my hurt. Like you’re not saying it because you want to or need to, but because now you feel like you have to now, pressured by some outer circumstances. And I get it, you did… what you thought was best." Stiles bites his lips. "If anything, it was my fault, for having these stupid dreams. I…”

Stiles laughs a little. “I really think that Jackson was right.”

Derek raises his bent head at that, weary looking and miserable. “How?”

“You should have hired me a hooker.”

“Stiles…” Derek gasps, and closes his eyes again. He wipes at them angrily with his jacket sleeve.

They stand in silence for a while, two dark figures in a dimly lit room.

"I'm sorry, but it's true! It would be much less hurtful, if not more pleasurable. Don't be offended. You'll find someone one day who will want you to love them just like you do. And I really really want the same for me... And if it never happens, then so be it. I will never settle for less. I hope you understand."

Derek nods.

"Go home, Derek," Stiles says wearily. "Try to forget it all. Don’t worry. It’ll pass. Whatever… this is. It was clearly never meant to be. I’ll come to the next pack meeting. Just… go home.”

Derek seems to accept this, finally, because he clutches the window frame, poised to jump out. “I’m sorry,” he says one last time to Stiles over his shoulder.

Stiles smiles tiredly. “Don’t be. I’m… really not.”

When Derek looks at him questioningly, Stiles explains. “It was a really lovely night, Derek,” Stiles says softly, even though it hurts a little to remember. “Just like I dreamed. I'll never regret that part.”

Derek's face crumples, and he must have let out a sob, barely audible, muffled by the cracking of the window frame under his fingers. He jumps out and disappears into the night.

Stiles watches him go for a while, sad and melancholy.

He really thought they could have been something. Something good.

Clearly, he was wrong.

Stiles turns back towards his computer, sits back down and continues typing.


	2. Don't Ask

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five years after the events in the first chapter, Stiles is in a happy relationship but his boyfriend keeps asking about Derek Hale.
> 
> Stiles doesn't take it well.

Sam’s nest of unruly, dark brown curls is massive enough to prevent Stiles from checking out the side view. He has to sag down and lean back deep into the passenger seat every time Stiles wants to change lanes.

“I got it, babe,” Stiles murmurs as he takes them towards their home in San Francisco, back from their visit to Beacon Hills.

Sam sits properly and shakes out his hair. Stiles squeezes his thigh gently, and gives him a small lopsided smile in gratitude for being cooperative.

“I liked the kids best,” Sam declares in his deep, sonorous voice which Stiles loves. It almost always surprises him when he hears it because it stands in such contrast with Sam’s slender body. "Everyone's really cool, but the kids are the sweetest. So cute! And your dad, of course."

“Ah,” Stiles smiles. “They are. Especially Tommy," he chuckles.

Erica and Boyd’s kid, Tommy, is his favorite, not only because of his adorable cuteness and the fact that he painfully reminds Stiles of his own rascal years, pulling pranks left and right, but also because the kid has developed a deep attachment to Stiles and won’t leave his side every time he visits. "Just don’t tell anyone, or Scott will end me.”

“Pft, as if,” Sam snorts. “Everybody knows Tommy’s your favorite. You’re as subtle as a rhino on steroids. I mean,” Sam grins, his full lips revealing a straight row of perfectly white, aligned teeth. “Everybody except Kinsley and Kristen, who are the ones you should be afraid of.”

Stiles’ conscience does burn a little at that, for he is the godfather to the girls. Scott and Kira’s daughters are two and four, and both perfect little angelic visions. Stiles loves them to pieces, he really does – but Tommy’s still the best.

Sam fiddles with the music and finally settles on Morphine. “What’s up with Derek? He seems the only one not paired off.”

Stiles shrugs. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”

“You don’t say,” Sam rumbles, leaning into his boyfriend, purring into his ear. “Have you ruined him for everybody else, babe? Has no one managed to reach the heights of your sexual expertise?” Sam’s hand travels dangerously close to Stiles’ crotch.

“Hey, cut it out,” Stiles protests weakly. He bats at Sam’s mischievous hand, too horny to ignore it. They managed to refrain from sex during the week they spent under his father’s roof.

Sam sighs and flops back into his seat.

Stiles finally addresses Sam’s teasing. “It was just one night, Sam. And I didn’t know anything, I was clueless. Anyway, no ruining occurred, believe you me, of any kind, especially not sexual.”

“So why’s he single? He’s too hot to be alone.” Sam pushes. “Don’t think I didn’t see you two talking on the porch during the game night. What did you talk about?”

“Jesus, Sam,” Stiles murmurs, exasperated. He pushes his fingers through his hair. “You know, just catching up. My Berkeley years, my job, you… things like that. Life.”

“Did he tell you he regretted losing you? That he _desperately_ wants you back?”

Stiles rolls his eyes. He knows that Sam isn’t the jealous type and that he's only kidding; besides, the two of them are rock solid. They've been dating for six months, living together for the last two, and Stiles really feels that this could be it.

He just wonders whence the third degree. Sam’s probably bored. Must be it.

“It was five years ago. He probably doesn’t even remember. Forgot all about it.”

“Hmmm,” Sam pouts, clearly dissatisfied with his answer, but Stiles has already found a parking spot in front of their building.

“I’m hungry.”

“No,” Stiles pulls him out of the car.

“But my stomach’s rumbling.”

“No.”

As soon as they get inside, Stiles pushes him onto their bed, managing to pull off Sam’s jeans at the same time. Damn those skinny jeans.

“Hey, hey, slow down,” Sam rolls around and faces Stiles. “You okay?”

Stiles buries his face into his boyfriend's neck, trailing kisses and nipping at Sam’s tanned skin.

“I want you,” he breathes, tired and turned on. “I need this. It's been too long.”

Their lips finally meet, soft and warm tongues pushing and twisting against one another.

Stiles abruptly sits back on his heels and pulls at his t-shirt. “Turn around,” he says, reaching for the lube on their bedside table, practiced. When he pushes inside, he sighs in relief and drops against Sam’s back, hiding his face in his hair. “Hmmm. Fuck. You feel good…” he whispers.

He starts thrusting and then keeps at it, without pause or change of position, until he feels familiar prickles in his spine and tightening in his balls.

“Shit,” he groans through his teeth when he comes, fucking into Sam until he rides out his climax. “Shit. Ah, sorry, babe.”

He flops next to Sam and kisses him sloppily. “Com’ere.” He rearranges them until he can reach for Sam, finish him off like this. They kiss lazily, Sam throwing his leg over Stiles’ hip and pushing into Stiles’ fist. When he comes, Sam laughs a little.

Stiles grins at him. “We’re so bad. So, so bad. An' lazy. What a great bad fuck.”

He sighs and lies on his back, throwing his arm over his eyes. “I needed this. I hope you don't mind.”

Sam doesn't say anything.

They are quiet for a while, just lying there, decompressing. Stiles dozes off a little, sated, but he can't stop thinking about their visit. They all seemed happy, but Stiles was there only for a week. It wasn't enough time for people to relax around him, show him how things truly were. He knows that the girls are driving Kira crazy and that she feels exhausted, and he knows that Boyd thinks Erica's been flirting with the new deputy. And he _knows_ that Derek's remained single for the past five years, refusing all match-making efforts from his worried pack. 

“So who fucked whom?” Sam asks out of nowhere.

“Sweet zombie Jesus! What the fuck, Sam?” Stiles cries out, throwing his arms into air. “What’s gotten into you, huh? It was five years ago, damn it.”

“Just curious.” Sam wiggles his eyebrows, grinning with nonchalance. "Why are you so sensitive about it?"

Stiles sighs. “I'm not, alright? I'm not. He fucked me. Happy now?”

“What’s his dick like?”

"Oh, god," Stiles sighs and covers his face with a pillow. When he removes it, he sees Sam laughing at him.

Stiles grins finally, deciding it's the best way to navigate the situation. With humor.

He pulls Sam into his arms. “You really wanna know, huh? His dick is _perfect_. Just like the rest of him. You've seen him," Stiles says a little meanly and regrets it instantly. "Why are you doing this, Sam? This doesn't feel good for either of us.”

“I don’t know. I don’t get it, I guess. You told me about him before, but now that I’ve actually met him… I just don’t get why you let him go. I never understood your explanation. He’s really something... You two make a good pair. Aesthetically speaking.”

"Listen to you, we make a good pair," Stiles mimics mockingly. "Yeah. Right."

Stiles swallows around a lump in his throat. It still burns in his chest when he thinks about it. He remembers it all.

“It's complicated," he breathes sleepily. "It just had to be that way. I waited and waited… for so long. Years, for him to say something, to make a move. It used to drive me mad… it hurt. You know.” Stiles threads his fingers through Sam’s hair, speaking slowly. “And then, it just dawned on me - we weren't made for each other. You know that movie, He's Just Not That Into You? It was like that. I needed to get it into my thick skull. He had a million chances to do something and he never did, and then he did the worst possible thing. I just stopped making excuses for him. Love's not supposed to hurt, to make you suffer, I really believe that. Loving him made me miserable. Mostly because he didn't love me back, even though he said he did. But he said it afterwards, like an excuse, like... he wasn't happy about it. And he _wasn't_, just like me. So..." Stiles pauses, yawns a little, gets even quieter. "I think Derek’s unable to have a relationship. There’s something about him that is… untamable. Even though I longed for him, I couldn’t imagine us as a couple, doing regular things… I mean, can you imagine Derek Hale scrubbing the toilet,” Stiles dissolves into a fit of chuckles, Sam’s head bouncing on his chest. “Anyway… I can't sleep now. Want a sandwich? I’m hungry.”

They move to the kitchen in their briefs, comfortable around each other. Sam sits at the counter and Stiles makes the sandwiches.

“I don’t know,” Sam says. “I’ve watched him change Kinsley’s shitty diaper. I’d say he’s pretty capable of doing regular stuff.”

Stiles looks at him incredulously. “Are you kidding me right now? What do you want me to say? Why are we still talking about him? What's gotten into you?”

“What?" Sam challenges. "We’re just having a conversation. Why _can’t_ we talk about him? What's he to you anyway, except the guy you lost your virginity to. He was never your boyfriend. I can’t even call him your ex.”

Stiles chops the tomatoes carefully. “You don’t understand,” he says, but he regrets it immediately.

Of course Sam can’t understand. He knows nothing about werewolves, packs and alphas, and he can never understand what Derek was to Stiles. Still is, in a way.

Also, although Sam isn’t a jealous type, Stiles isn’t crazy enough to believe he can say something along the _we couldn’t be together because I loved him too much and I thought he didn’t love me enough_ line and survive unscathed. Sam perhaps has no problem talking about Stiles' previous relationship, but Stiles thinks that he maybe really... should. He has to feel something. So he's either pretending, or... feeling nothing. Bad case scenarios, both of them.

The thought gives Stiles first throbs of headache. During the deceptive lull in their conversation, Stiles manages to pour two glasses of orange juice. He can already feel the pangs of anxiety this talk is causing in him.

“He talked to me, too, you know,” Sam says.

“What?” The tomato knife clatters against the counter. “Talked, like, 'pass the pepper, please' and 'the weather is lovely today', or talked-talked?”

“Talked-talked. He asked me if you were happy.”

Stiles closes his eyes for a moment and sighs. He can feel the headache squeezing his temples. But his heart is beating a mile a minute, and he thanks all deities for the fact that Sam’s not a werewolf.

“I really don’t understand why the fuck he cares,” he murmurs into his chin, even though he does. He does.

Stiles knows perfectly well why he cares. It’s not like he has been out of touch with the pack. They visit each other, text and facetime constantly. They skyped during all three childbirths and Lydia and Jackson’s wedding which he was unable to attend because he was in Japan at the time.

So, Stiles is _in the loop_. He knows that Derek’s remained alone ever since their fateful… tryst. He also knows that the pack blame Stiles for that. Traitors. The pack, who have somehow found out and have their very strong opinions on the matter which they never hesitate to share with him.

“Me, neither,” Sam says around his mouthful. “Especially because he knows you’re with me.”

Stiles frowns. “Well that’s weirdly exclusive. Are you saying he can’t care about my happiness because I’m in a relationship?”

“I guess not,” Sam says pensively. “Do you think he still cares about you, romantically?”

Stiles puts his food down, losing his appetite abruptly. “I honestly don’t know. I don’t think so? No, definitely not. I mean, so much time has passed, so many things have happened. But, he is a weirdo. Painfully stubborn. Who knows what’s in his head. And you know, I really don't care. Why would I? Can you just imagine? Let's say, for the sake of the argument, that he still cares about me. How dysfunctional do you have to be to love someone for years and never do anything about it, huh? Huh?” Stiles pants, upset.

“He also asked me something pretty strange. He asked how I told you that I love you. Not _if_ I told you, or _when_ I told you, but _how_. The logistics of it. If you liked it. If you were satisfied, I guess, with the execution? I’m not sure I understood him correctly, he’s not very eloquent. He apologized and everything, for sticking his nose where it didn’t belong, but said that he really wanted to know. So strange.”

Stiles pales like a sheet and his palms turn clammy. “Shit.” He kicks at the cupboard in front of him. “Shit, shit, fuck, shit, fuck, goddammit, fucking fuckity fuck!”

Sam jumps up, running to him. “Hey, hey, calm down, babe. Are you alright?”

But Stiles just buries his face into his hands. “I gotta lie down. I’m sorry. My head hurts.”

“No, I’m sorry, come on, let’s get you into bed. Come on. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Stiles lets Sam pull him towards the bed and falls limply across it. He hugs the pillow and closes his eyes. He breathes deeply, trying to calm down, and grabs Sam’s hand; but it’s not his face that he sees on the back of his eyelids.

His traitorous mind keeps projecting five-year-old blurry images against his translucent skin and Stiles _whines_.


	3. Lucky Charms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles leaves his boyfriend and he blames Derek for it.
> 
> Derek comes to San Francisco to comfort him.

Three days later, Stiles breaks up with Sam. It's absolutely horrible, but he has no other options. As a firm believer in complete and total honesty, true love and 19th century English romance novels, he really doesn't.

Stiles helps him move back to his old roommate’s apartment, subdued and apologetic. Sam takes it much better than him. When they bring Sam’s bags up, he smiles and kisses Stiles on the cheek. “Don’t be a stranger,” he says. Stiles nods, looking at his feet. He feels like shit anyways.

The following day he's parked outside Target where he went to buy new sheets for his bed, but he can’t bring himself to start the car.

He pulls out his phone and types out a message. _I broke up with my boyfriend._

When his phone rings, Stiles is so startled he almost drops it. This is the first time it’s happened. Derek never calls him. Never. His palm is so sweaty that he barely manages to press the green button.

When Derek just breathes into his phone, Stiles finally loses his shit.

“You better say something, Derek, or – or, I swear,” he pants, his eyes burning.

“I’m sorry,” Derek almost shouts in his effort to nip Stiles’ panic in the bud. “I’m sorry, okay? Stiles, calm down, I can hear your heartbeat. Where are you?”

“I’m in my car, I –“

“You better not be driving and talking on your phone.”

“No, no, I’m parked.”

Silence.

“Won’t you ask me what happened? Don’t you have anything to say?” Stiles almost breaks down.

“I’m really sorry,” Derek offers quietly. “I don’t know what else to say. It’s not really my business…”

“Not your business? _Not your business_?” Stiles squeals. “It’s fucking your fault, you, you oblivious, unthinking, ungrateful –“

“Stiles,” Derek interrupts him. “I don’t know what I did. I didn’t do anything. How can it be my fault?”

But Stiles simply ignores him. He bulldozes right over his words. “—with your questions and, and with your… everything, and all the things you said, and things you didn’t say, and the things you asked him, like, like you had _any_ right…”

Stiles’ cheeks are wet. His nose is running, snot dribbling over his lips. It’s disgusting. He tries to find a tissue, poking blindly through the glove compartment.

“Stay where you are.”

“What?”

“Don’t drive now. Stay where you are. I’m coming there.”

When Stiles calms down enough to focus, he can hear the sharp buzzing of the Camaro. “Are you – are you in your car? Where are you going? Are you driving and using your phone, you hypocrite?”

“I am. I can do it. I’m coming to you.”

“But, it’s more than two hours…”

“I’ll be there in an hour. Just… stay there.”

Stiles can hear the powerful engine of Derek’s car and he knows that Derek’s breaking every possible traffic law under the sun right now. He flops back in his seat, leaning his head back, drying tracks of his tears pulling at his skin. “My dad’s gonna kill you. _I’m_ gonna kill you.”

Derek huffs. “Your dad loves me.”

Stiles smiles wetly. It’s true, he really does. During Stiles’ absence, Derek’s been there for John constantly, fixing the house when needed, watching his diet, helping with the police work… They’ve become friends.

“Are you still crying?” Derek asks.

“No,” Stiles replies nasally, his nose stuffy. “I’m still miserable, though.”

“Why did you do it then? Why did you break up, if it makes you so sad?”

Stiles huffs, and it pushes some of the gross content in his nostrils out. He straightens in panic, grabbing for another tissue. Jesus. He’s pathetic.

“I think he’s finally realized that maybe what we had wasn't of the _one true love, stay together forever_ variety.” He sniffles. "Which was what I was going for. You know. And maybe he's also realized what you are. To me."

Derek doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t even have to. Stiles knows all his thoughts. It’s a good thing Stiles can talk enough for the both of them.

“And he can’t compete with that, you know? I mean, we were great. We never fought, we were so compatible, everything was just so… easy. But then he had to watch me fall apart just because of some silly question that you asked him… I couldn’t leave the bed for two days straight, Derek. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. And I couldn’t even explain it to him… or to myself,” Stiles rambles. “It just wasn’t fair to him.”

Derek is quiet for a while. Stiles knows that he is parsing through his words.

“I feel like even if I say that I understand, you won't believe me," Derek says.

Stiles wants to deny it, he really does, but he can't. "Well. It's not that you're wrong. You know nothing about love, Derek Hale."

Well, it's true, Stiles feels. Again, he thinks he's never intentionally cruel. Some things need to be said for the sake of everyone's well-being.

Derek's clearly decided to change tactics. "So what am I to you?”

Stiles snorts. “You know. Don't play dumb, I'm really not in the mood for it right now, Derek.”

But Derek gets all serious. “No, tell me. Before… you told me that you kept imagining… fantasizing. Remember? That night? Tell me about that.”

"Do I remember..." Such an easy question. Stiles closes his eyes. Thankfully, the dusk outside has turned into a pretty solid darkness, the moon and the stars barely visible from the looming buildings around. The light in Stiles’ car is off and he feels cocooned inside. He lets himself float in his thoughts.

“Okay. I see you all the time, in my head. Like you live there. And you’re neither a man, nor a wolf…," he murmurs raspily. "You’re like this sculpture, or every painting or bas-relief of ancient deities, Roman, Greek, or plain unknown, captured in perfection… Just too good to be true, to be alive. Unreal. I see you as a black stone figure which lives from sunshine, warm and smooth to the touch; I can look at you and admire you in all your beauty; I can sit at your feet and hug your legs and feel safe… I can touch your face and you wouldn’t mind. But you don't move when I touch you, you don't speak when I talk to you, like you're above all those mundane activities...“

“Jesus, Stiles. You make it sound like I’m not alive, like I’m something to worship. Neither is true.”

“Shut up,” Stiles cuts him off. “Let me fantasize.”

Stiles can hear Derek shifting gears through the phone, the distant buzzing lulling him into a wakeful dream.

“You can’t speak. But, I can feel the power of your words, even though you’re silent… I see them in your face, on your lips, in your eyes… We talk like that. So… I can admire you and love you, but I can’t have you. I can’t own you. You’re something I can never have. No one can have you. Not even me, even though I know you love me.”

“Do you?” Derek’s voice is so quiet that it doesn’t snap Stiles out of his reverie. He feels humbled. He understands Stiles’ fantasy now -- what’s behind it, at least.

Stiles starts crying again. “Well. Yeah. I know, Derek. I’ve always known. I’d known it before we slept together, and I knew it when I decided that we shouldn’t be together, and I knew it during all these years that we spent apart.”

Derek’s shocked silence radiates from Stiles’ phone.

“What I don’t know,” Stiles plows on, not wanting to allow Derek a single second to ask _why then, why did you keep us apart, why we weren't together,_ because he explained it a million times, his voice getting angrier by the second, “And I really want to, is why you never did anything about it, or did the wrong things. I maybe feel like I can’t have you, for whatever stupid reason, but you could have had me, and you wouldn’t. I was yours. But you just...” Stiles sniffs. "You never said anything. Just like that sculpture. You can't just... be there, stand there, be so passive and expect things to unfold on their own!"

“That’s… that’s not true. There were reasons--” Derek says, sounding alarmed at Stiles' raised voice.

“What, Derek? What? Your reasons are stupid, let me tell you. Plain stupid,” Stiles sniffles. “I don’t want to hear them, you hear. What, because I was sixteen, or seventeen, and then I was eighteen and you finally decide to fuck me just because some current monster plaguing our town had a thing for virgins… What is that, Derek, huh? How stupid is that. And then nothing, nothing, you let me go to college and move out of Beacon Hills without a word… and be with other people, and, and then you take care of my dad and vow to celibacy or some shit, and the pack hates me like it was all my fault, like I did something wrong, and that’s just horrible, Derek. Horrible.”

Derek’s breaths are loud over the phone. He’s upset. “That’s not fair, that’s not how it happened. I’ve always put you first, thought about what was best for you. Everything I did was for you. And the pack doesn’t hate you, why would you say that…”

“It was like you loved me, but didn't like that, didn't want it. Which is way worse than not loving me. So shut up. Shut up. I’m so mad at you,” Stiles sobs. “I’m so mad. I’m gonna kill you when you get here.”

“Please, don’t cry. Please, I can’t stand it. Hey. We'll talk when I get there and we won't stop until we say everything.”

Stiles touches his puffy face and wipes the tears away, but the fresh ones keep spilling over his lashes. “I can’t, they keep coming.”

“Stiles… I’m not how you see me. I don’t know why you see me like that. You can have me, you always could. I just… don’t know how to be yours. How to love you. If you could tell me… I would do it. I will listen to you, from now on. I… want to be what you want. I’m terrified that I’ll do something wrong and you’ll disappear again. You make me afraid of what I say, or do, and it's frightening, it's... debilitating."

“I know. I'm sorry.”

“Will you tell me then, how to love you?”

Stiles nods, forgetting that Derek can’t see him. “I can try, but, I don’t know, Derek, I don’t know either. What are we gonna do? We’re so screwed,” Stiles says, shaking.

Someone opens his door then and suddenly he is enveloped in a bear hug.

“Oh my god. Derek,” Stiles sobs into his neck, his ugly cries muffled against Derek’s skin. He’s trembling, clutching desperately around Derek’s shoulders. Derek is warm and huge, like he’s gotten bigger since they last hugged, and he probably has. Five years is a long time. Stiles hangs onto him like he can't let go. "I missed you so much."

Derek almost has to drag him to the Camaro. “We have to go. Come on, Stiles, or they'll accuse us of loitering. I’ll come back for your car tomorrow.” He puts Stiles down into the passenger seat and does his seatbelt for him.

They drive to Stiles’ apartment in silence and plop on the sofa in a flurry of limbs – Stiles, that is. He isn’t sure Derek is capable of doing anything inelegantly. They hold hands, fingers interwoven, gripping firmly, the atmosphere only mildly awkward.

Then Derek asks him the same question from five years ago. “Can I kiss you now?”

“Oh my god,” Stiles starts laughing. “Can you believe it? I have to say no, again. I have to wash my face first, it's gross, all dried up tears and snot and saliva and –“

But Derek just pulls him in his lap and kisses him stupid.

And Stiles kisses him back, he does; he grabs at his face, Derek’s stubble helping with the grip. He’s not letting go. When he resurfaces for air, he just wants to hug Derek. He rests his face against Derek’s shoulder, and clamps his arms around his neck.

“What now?” he whispers.

Derek keeps stroking his back. “I don’t know. Whatever you want. You said you wanted to kill me. You can get right to that now.”

Stiles chuckles, giddy and elated. “How long can you stay?”

Derek snorts. “I’m not leaving you.”

“How do you mean?” Stiles is puzzled. They don’t even live in the same city.

“Exactly like I said. I’m not leaving you, ever again. You wanna stay here, I’m staying here too. If you want to move back to Beacon Hills, then we’re doing that.”

“You would move to San Francisco for me?” Stiles squeaks.

“Yep.”

“Where would you live?”

“Right here with you.”

“I didn’t even invite you.”

“I don't care.”

“What if I snore?”

“You don’t.”

“What if my feet smell?”

“I’ll bathe you.”

“What if I leave dirty socks everywhere?”

“I’ll make you pick them up.”

“What if I use up all hot water?”

“I’ll shower with cold.”

Stiles bites his lips. “I have a job here.”

“I know. Like I said, we can stay. Or you can get a job in Beacon Hills. I—I always thought that you perhaps left because of me. That you would maybe like to come back.”

“I did. I do,” Stiles holds his breath. “Let’s not do stupid shit anymore.”

He feels more than sees Derek nodding in agreement against his hair.

They shower together and go to bed later, exhausted and frayed at the edges.

Stiles thinks they’re too tired to have sex, but it turns out they aren’t. They snuggle against each other for snuggling purposes only, but not five minutes later, hard dicks happen and they are left with no choice. They can’t help it. Stiles is a little nervous since he hasn’t bottomed in a while, but it turns out that he’s got nothing to worry about.

Derek is impossibly gentle, and Stiles wants to cry how good it feels, not because of some special sex technique or trick, but only because it's Derek, Derek's body, his hands, skin and smell... He was crazy to think anyone else could measure up.

  
There's not one less than perfect moment. Stiles is experiencing this new sense of appreciation and lust, unusually affectionate and supple. Derek makes him different, and at this moment, he can't imagine wanting any tenderness and passion other than Derek's ruling over him. They continue their sex slowly, confirming their intimacy over and over again.

Derek's face crumples in ecstasy and he buries his face in Stiles' chest. "Stiles..."

"Mhmmm," Stiles pats him gently with what little coordination he has left, squeezing his thighs against Derek’s waist. “I wish we could stay like this forever.”

“Ngnhnnh.”

“We don't need food, we don't need anything. If you leave me, I'll be sad.”

Derek kisses him sensually again. “I told you. I'm never leaving you again.”

“Oh, but you will. Don't make promises you can't keep,” Stiles wiggles under him a little, squeezing down there, trying to show Derek that he was being literal. That leads to refreshened bouts of lovemaking that make Stiles incoherent and delirious.

They end up sprawled next to each other eventually. "Don't confuse me with your words, Stiles. I wanted you so much, I longed for you, and yet until you called, I never fully realized how much. I was sick with longing. Everybody told me you would come to your senses eventually, but I was so afraid... thinking they were only trying to comfort me."

Stiles takes a deep breath, his chest hurting a little. "They probably were, you know. They couldn't have known. I didn't know. But here we are." He sits up next to Derek. "Let's not be sad. Let's not call ourselves stupid. I love you. You're here. That's all that matters."

***

Everything is new. Stiles doesn’t know where to look in the morning, flailing around the apartment like a deranged chicken, every once in a while looking curiously at Derek, like he’s shocked he’s still there. He touches him every time he passes him, a small, lingering caress that doesn’t go any further. It’s a good thing Derek finds it amusing.

They don’t have all the answers in the morning. Stiles decides to go quit his job five times and then changes his mind as many times.

Derek is relaxed and zen about everything, like they have nothing to worry about. Apparently, other than securing Stiles, he hasn’t.

They sit for breakfast in Stiles’ kitchen, but it turns out Stiles doesn’t have any breakfast food other than Lucky Charms. Derek pours them both a bowl. He spills a few charms on the counter and starts playing with them.

Stiles can’t help mocking him for this. “Are you five now, Derek?”

But Derek just smiles widely at him, and – it’s a blinding smile. The sun spills in from the eastern window, reflecting against his teeth and eyes.

Stiles blinks.

“Stiles, I love you.”

When Stiles’ vision clears, there’s a Lucky Charms shaped heart on the counter next to Derek’s hand.

"I Lucky Charms you, too," Stiles says, and kisses the sunshine off Derek's lips.


	4. You're Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek and Stiles are finally together and they're navigating the first months of their relationship. 
> 
> It goes swell.

They decide to stay there for a while.

Derek lets everyone know he’s in San Francisco with Stiles, but they both ignore frequent calls and messages from the pack. They get it, they get the pack’s confusion and curiosity, but they just can’t deal with it right now. Not when there are so many things they have to figure out for themselves.

"I still think I love you too much. Even right now, I can’t be fully happy because I’m scared this is all a dream, or that you’re gonna change your mind and disappear," Stiles says. "It's like those epic, huge loves that are doomed from the start to end in tragedy because they contain so much emotion that they have to burst."

Derek sighs heavily. He isn’t looking at Stiles, but he is clutching him firmly against his chest, both sprawled on the sofa in this late afternoon. Stiles’ hair is soft against his neck. He doesn't know what reassurance more to give. He isn't leaving Stiles' side ever again.

"Stiles." And that’s it. Derek just says his name, the sounds rolling softly over his lips. He keeps stroking Stiles' hair, and the gentle touch makes Stiles relax even more against him. But then Derek finds it in him to continue. He hates talking. He's also afraid of talking, of saying the wrong thing. "I hate that you’re scared. I wish I knew how to make it go away. Is there anything I can say, or do? I’ll say it. I’ll do it. You know that?"

Stiles sniffles a little. "Yeah."

"Good." Derek sounds satisfied. "You know, I’m not sure I know how to be happy, too. If I should be happy." Derek tries to relax, to speak how he really thinks and feels. It helps that Stiles is so close next to him. On him, really. He's not fucking this up again. "It’s one of those package deals that everybody tells you about... that you’ll find eternal happiness if you’re with the person you love, but… it’s so much more than that. So much deeper."

Stiles nods against him and turns his head a little so that he can kiss Derek’s chest. He doesn’t say anything, and Derek continues. "I love you."

Derek brushes against Stiles’ chin and lifts his face towards him. Stiles’ eyes are shiny, his lips red and wet, and Derek kisses him until he feels the thirst in him lessen, this burning need for Stiles’ touch and taste.

"It’s… not just love, though. Or happiness. It’s our past, present and future, our history, meaning and need, our fears, mistakes and desires… It’s an entire universe. Of us. It’s the big things, like our love, and little things, like how you leave dirty dishes in the sink to crust over… or how we fuck."

Stiles giggles at that, bringing his arms up around Derek’s neck, squirming into the sofa and pulling Derek against him. He loves the weight of Derek over his body. "Yeah? How do we fuck? Do you like it, big guy?"

Derek remains quiet. He falls into the space between Stiles’ legs, closes his eyes and just… takes it all in. Everything feels right. He buries his nose into Stiles’ neck and latches onto the skin there, kissing it, sucking on it, breathing in Stiles’ scent whenever he can. "We don't fake it. We don't pretend. I love your body and how you feel and smell. I enjoy you. The way you touch me... Nothing compares to it."

He’s careful, aware how smaller Stiles is, how thinner he’s gotten in the past few years. He keeps cradling Stiles’ face with his hand, kissing everywhere but his mouth, because he enjoys Stiles’ breathy little moans, his quiet ah-ah-ahs too fucking much. His other hand strokes Stiles’ thigh. Derek loves Stiles’ legs, too.

"Derek…" Stiles manages to whisper.

Derek stops for a moment, looking into Stiles’ eyes. His eyes are… his eyes are beautiful. Derek loves Stiles’ eyes.

"Yeah?"

"We were supposed to go shopping."

"Mhmm." Derek doesn't give a fuck about shopping right now. He presses his hips down a little, slotting his own hardness next to Stiles’. "Do you want to go shopping now?"

"I mean," Stiles pants, pushing his hips up, his long fingers clasping around Derek’s shoulders. "We’re out of milk… and everything."

Derek doesn't stop caressing him. "We can go, if you want, but… I want you, right now."

Derek kisses him and Stiles responds in earnest, warm and wet against his lips. He tastes like… nothing in particular, no toothpaste, no lingering traces of their breakfast, just skin and spit and his little taste buds, rubbing against his own tongue, smelling like Stiles.

Derek is seconds away from coming. There isn’t enough space in his underwear for his desire. Stiles makes him so horny. "Just… I can come like this, right now."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm."

"Derek… Okay. Derek," Stiles gives up on the shopping when Derek smells his briefs getting wet. He squirms under Derek, panting, pushing his bony hips up in short thrusts. "Derek, please. Yeah. Let’s do it, we’ll go shopping later, or tomorrow, I want you, I want you right now," Stiles babbles and Derek’s already on his knees, pulling Stiles’ sweatpants off and smiling at his flustered face.

They don’t last long. They never do, because they excite each other so much that every time they get to the actual fucking part of their lovemaking, they’re both seconds from coming. Derek guesses it’ll change in a month or two, once they’ve had their fill and somehow satisfied the long repressed desire they’ve had for each other for so long. Derek’s not really sure. He’s never been with anyone. He plans a lifetime with Stiles. Right now, he can’t imagine ever wanting Stiles any less.

Stiles is soft beneath him, his lean and wiry muscles reduced to putty under Derek’s touches. His legs open so beautifully around Derek’s hips and he can’t keep his eyes off. He traces Stiles’ firm little stomach, going past his elegant hardness and rubs his fingers gently through Stiles’ neat pubic hairs.

"You’re gorgeous. Look at you."

Stiles blushes tomato red and turns his head away.

Derek clucks his tongue and pulls his face towards him, but Stiles refuses to look him in the eyes.

"I love you," Derek says. "I can’t believe I get to see you like this. That you’re mine."

Stiles rolls his eyes in pretend exasperation and bites his lips invitingly. Cheeky little shit.

Derek thinks for a second that he’s ruined the mood with his possessive, ‘you’re mine’ bullshit again, but then he sees Stiles’ hand creeping down his body and touching him there, so he relaxes.

***

When they started living together in San Francisco, Derek followed Stiles around everywhere for a few weeks, like a lost puppy. He even showed up to Stiles’ work one day, uninvited, under the pretense of bringing him food, and just stood there, trying to make everybody understand that Stiles was off the market now. He was Derek’s now. Just a regular, pissing the territory routine.

He thought that Stiles would mind it, that he was the last person on earth to allow such caveman, possessive crap, but Derek was wrong again.

Stiles just hugged him around the waist, leaning into him slightly, and turned his smiling face to everyone. "Guys, this is Derek. He’s my--"

Stiles paused. He hesitated, and Derek’s heart skipped a frantic beat. They hadn't actually discussed what they were to each other. "He's mine," Stiles finished, and Derek smiled broadly.

They were more than boyfriends, but saying anything else was impossible right then. They weren’t husbands, yet - a charming little fact that Derek wanted to change so badly but was too scared to mention to Stiles - and they certainly couldn’t announce to the world that they were mates. Derek just wanted to secure Stiles on all known planes of existence - natural, supernatural and other.

Maybe coming to Stiles' work wasn't the best idea, but Stiles seemed happy and Derek nodded at everyone’s smiles and pleasantries, calm and relaxed, accepting polite invitations for drinks and random ideas to hang out, clutching Stiles firmly against his body. And the best part of it was that Stiles seemed as equally possessive of Derek as he was of Stiles - a lucky happenstance. Derek would hide it if he had to, but was really glad that he didn't.

***

"What were you doing out today?" Stiles asks when he comes back from work one day, clearly miffed.

"I went to the gym. Why?"

"A-ha. Right. To the gym. What did you wear? Some shorty shorts and tighty tanks, I bet? You might as well strip naked, you know. Show everybody just how good you look!"

Derek grins. "What's the matter, Stiles?"

"The matter, Derek, is that Mrs. Kowalski from the second floor saw you when you left, in your gym outfit, might I add, a completely unnecessary and disrespectful clothing choice for public outing by the way, and then went to tell the entire neighborhood that they now had _a stud_ among their midst. There was even a drawing involved. She pinned it on the noticeboard down by the laundromats."

"Mrs. Kowalski? I met her, yes."

"You met her?" Stiles squeaks. "Did you talk to her?"

"Of course. She introduced herself, welcomed me to the neighborhood, offered any help..."

"I bet she did!"

"I think she mentioned making a casserole for us."

"I can't believe you. She never offered to make me a casserole, you know."

"I think she was very nice, Stiles. Polite."

"Well. Who could blame her! I would be polite, too, if I saw your arms and legs with muscles and bulges and... everything," Stiles says indignantly, flailing his arms in the general direction of Derek's body.

"Stiles," Derek says evenly. "She must be in her seventies."

"So? There's a very detailed caricature of you down in the basement, Derek. I'm just saying. Anyone can ogle at you. Anyone. I hate it!"

"I'll go take it down right now if it bothers you that much."

"You can take it down all you want, Derek. That picture of you is plastered all over Instagram and Facebook by now. And all Mrs. Kowalski's friends are now 'liking' it and probably photoshopping themselves right next to you. You should check your Facebook page, you're probably 'in a relationship' with some old cow. Or married!"

"Stiles! Stop being rude. And I do not have Facebook. Besides, you're overreacting," Derek says and pulls Stiles towards him, enveloping him in a hug. "As per usual. Stiles, she knows we're together. Everybody does."

Stiles relaxes in Derek's arms. "They do?"

"Mhm. It might have something to do with the fact that you keep introducing me to people as 'yours'."

"Well. Do you hate it?"

Derek chuckles. "Of course not. It is true. And you know I like to think of you as mine."

Stiles sniffles. "Whatever. This is so stressful."

"I can't believe that you got jealous over a bunch of nice ladies."

"Well, I did. And you better remember it next time when you decide to strut around the building half-naked!"

Derek sighs and rolls his head heavenwards, praying for strength. "I was _not_ half-naked. But if it bothers you that much, I promise to wear a priest's robe next time."

"Thank you. See, all problems go away when you're being reasonable."

"Whatever shall I do with you, my dear...," Derek coos as he takes Stiles to the bedroom. "Come on. You haven't even changed. Are you hungry? I made dinner." Derek fusses over Stiles, helping him out of his work clothes into something more comfortable. Stiles is still a little sad over the entire Mrs. Kowalski incident and Derek always gets extra affectionate when Stiles is upset.

***

Derek can’t keep his smile off his face. "I love you, too. Shall we get up?"

"No. Let’s stay like this for a while."

Derek concedes, hugging Stiles softly and not pulling out yet. "If we get up now," he murmurs, "we’ll get to the shop before it closes."

"I forgot to buy that Greek yogurt you like the last time," Stiles says, trailing his fingers down the warm skin on Derek’s back.

"Salright."

"Yeah? Well, we wouldn’t want you to skip on your vital nutrients now, would we. I've never seen anyone reading the food labels as carefully as you do."

"Shut up, Stiles."

"And we’ll get all that weird shit you eat, like ginkgo biloba and kombitcha."

"It’s _kombucha_, doofus. And I won’t eat it if it bothers you that much."

Stiles claps him on the head. "Oh my god, you freak. I’m just kidding. You can eat whatever you like."

Derek chuckles softly.

"I’m just not touching that shit," Stiles announces. "You kept one of those in a jar last time and it hated me, I swear every time I passed it in the kitchen, it gave me a stinky eye."

"Stiles, it’s a plant, not a pet."

Stiles rolls his eyes. "Whatever, Derek. I’m just saying. It looked at me funnily."

Derek kisses him one more time. "Come on. Get up. Let’s clean ourselves before everything dries."

Stiles groans, but he does let Derek help him get up. They clean up then and head for the closest supermarket.

It’s a warm evening and Derek likes that they don’t need to go by car, enjoying the fresh air.

"I was thinking," Stiles says, squeezing Derek’s hand where he’s holding it. "Maybe we should move back home. To Beacon Hills. I think it's time."

Derek pauses for a second.

They didn’t want to go there when they first got together. They wanted some time alone, to figure their relationship out, before the pack and Stiles’ father descended upon them like vultures, with all the questions and suggestions they didn't want. They did feel a little guilty about it, but it was what they needed at the time. A little time just for themselves. A little privacy. And Stiles had to say proper goodbye to this chapter of his life.

"Okay", Derek says.

"Really?" Stiles gives him one of his trademark sweet lopsided smiles. Derek loves it. It’s so cute.

Derek squeezes his hand back. "Really."

"I could give my two weeks’ notice at work. And to my landlord. We could give the furniture to charity."

"Yes."

"I could, I could… I should probably talk to Sam."

Derek doesn’t say anything, but he tenses a little and Stiles feels it.

"You know… because we were together for six months, and… because, you know. He deserves to know."

Derek stops walking and turns around towards him. "Stiles. Just. Talk to Sam. It’s all right. I understand."

Stiles bites his lips and flails a little. "Do you mind?"

"Of course not." Pause. "I just don't see why you have to talk to him. You're not together anymore, what does it have to do with him..."

"Derek! So what, he has to hear from someone else that I've moved out of town and didn't even bother telling him, like we're strangers?"

"I know, I know. You're right. It’s the right thing to do. I’m not particularly glad about it, but it is what it is. You should definitely do it."

Stiles sighs. "Okay."

They continue walking. They hold hands and match their steps in silent agreement. Stiles almost forgets what they were talking about when Derek chimes in. "You meant to talk with him over the phone, right?"

"Oh, my god. Derek! No, not over the phone. It’s so – so… well. Not nice."

But Derek just keeps quiet.

"Derek! Say something. It’s not like I’m going to jump into his arms! We’ll just go have coffee some place, all right? Okay?"

Derek nods, but he refuses to look Stiles in the eyes.

"Okay?" Stiles tries again.

"Okay."

"I love you", Stiles says.

Derek looks at him like he’s crazy and then pulls him by the arm into a passageway. He presses him against the wall, cradling Stiles’ head in his hands, their entire bodies glued together. "Just… don’t let him touch you. Please. Okay?"

Stiles nods, a little flustered.

Derek kisses him then, sensually, needing reassurance and comfort.

Stiles kisses him back with all his heart. "Okay, babe."

Derek hugs him. "Love you."

Stiles presses his lips against Derek’s stubble, kissing him gently.

Derek clears his throat. "Maybe... Maybe I could come? With you?" He tries, stiffening a little in Stiles’ arms, afraid that he’s pissing him off.

But Stiles just chuckles, tightening his grip around Derek’s torso. "No, Derek… just me." Stiles hugs him within an inch of his life. He doesn't let Derek freak out over this. "And I won’t let him touch me. Promise. You have nothing to worry about. Trust me."

Derek melts into his arms. He tries to let go of his possessiveness. Stiles deserves it. He is so amazing. "I trust you."

"Great then." Stiles pushes him a little. "Let’s go. And if the shop's closed by now, you’re taking me out for dinner. I need so many calories," he says, patting his flat belly.

Derek sobers up and takes his hand again. "You do," he says seriously. "You’ve lost a lot of weight."

"Feed me then. Fatten me up before you eat me, wolf!" Stiles giggles, and jumps on Derek’s back.

Several passers-by give them some indignant glares, but Stiles doesn’t care. He’s with his man. His man who carries him all the way to the supermarket on his back. Stiles is happy. He is so happy he could die. He presses his face against Derek’s nape and enjoys the ride.


	5. Homeward Bound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek and Stiles move back to Beacon Hills, but not everything goes as smoothly as they wish

When Stiles comes back home, he finds Derek in the kitchen wrapping up his glasses into old newspaper and laying them carefully into a cardbox.

The whole apartment is in chaos. They’re moving back to Beacon Hills tomorrow.

Stiles looks around and nods appreciatively at the amount of work Derek’s done during the three hours Stiles was gone.

He looks at Derek, too, but he doesn’t even spare him a glance.

Stiles feels weird. Derek keeps handling the fucking glasses, and Stiles is on his nerves’ end.

"Well, it’s all done, I guess. Mr. Demme gave me a recommendation letter even though I didn’t ask for it, considering I’ll be working for dad and everything. I just didn’t have the heart to disappoint him, he seemed so happy about it," Stiles chatters, as per usual when he's anxious, shuffling his feet over the tiny amount of empty floor space. "And I said goodbye to Mrs. Kowalski. She wanted me to remind you not to forget to feed me."

Derek looks at him indifferently. "Could you pass the duct tape, please. It’s over there."

Derek's _never_ indifferent to him. Mostly he's doting and adoring towards Stiles, upset about him on rare occasion, but indifferent? In the ten years they've known each other, that hasn't happened once. It's an aberration, is what it is.

Stiles fidgets around the disaster that is their kitchen at the moment and keeps talking, his usual go-to coping method. "She said you should make me chicken alfredo at least once a week ‘cause it’s my favorite."

"Is that so."

"She said I should not be left without sustenance just ‘cause we’re not gonna be neighbors anymore. She’s gonna send you the recipe," Stiles says, handing the duct tape to Derek.

"Did she now?" Derek replies dryly, but takes the tape anyway and brushes Stiles' hand a little.

Stiles hovers. He feels incredibly guilty. "Can I help? What can I do?"

Derek looks at him, in that _I'm-maybe-pissed-at-you-but-I-love-you-too-much-to-say-it-let-alone-really-show-it_ way that he sometimes has, which is way better than indifference, if you ask Stiles. "You could pack the cutlery. Here. Wrap it in the kitchen towels. Like that."

Stiles looks at him pleadingly, but Derek averts his eyes.

"Okay. I can do that," Stiles says and starts emptying the drawers. "What else did you do?"

"I talked with your dad. He called to see if we needed him to meet the moving truck for us. He said Boyd and Scott were taking a day off tomorrow to help us."

"Oh that’s great!" Stiles says cheerfully and shuffles closer to Derek, knocking his arm against Derek's. "They didn’t have to do it, right? We could have done it by ourselves, you and I. Well, you’d probably be doing all the hauling alone, but I’d be cheering you up. I’m a great cheerleader. Uhm. Cheerer."

Derek sighs a long-suffering sigh of the horribly wronged lover. "Stiles, don’t."

Stiles moves away, looking down guiltily. "I’m sorry!" he shouts nervously.

When Derek doesn’t say anything, Stiles decides that it’s time to just get it over with. "Look, I’m really sorry! I am. Derek... Don’t be like that."

"You’re sorry?" Derek asks icily, raising his eyebrows. "You _promised_, Stiles. You promised you wouldn’t…" He shakes his head.

"I am _really sorry_," Stiles says honestly. "It’s just that - we talked, and I thought that that would be it, I’d just tell him that I was moving away, and that we would wish each other all the best, you know, but… and that's all I did, but then he wanted to talk about what happened between us, and why we didn’t work, and all kinds of serious stuff... like why I chose you after everything, and I couldn't say no, it felt like it'd be rude--"

Stiles stops his babbling when Derek winces and scrunches up his face in distaste. "No, do continue, please. Tell me exactly how a brief goodbye with your ex turned into this. Into you being away for three hours and coming back smelling like him."

Stiles’ eyes are wide as saucers, guilty and alert, but Derek swears internally when that doesn't prevent him from noticing how expressive and warm they are at the same time. He feels his resolve start chipping away and he _knows_ it'll crumble into dust pretty soon, but he decides to remain strong.

"Don't pull the Bambi card on me, Stiles, I won't fall for it this time."

Stiles looks like someone who not only pulled the Bambi card, but watch Bambi get murdered and eaten for breakfast. His eyelashes flutter and he blinks in rapid succession. His chin trembles.

If he starts crying, Derek's just going to fold like a picnic table, and they both know it.

"He was just so sad, Derek, and I hugged him goodbye, because he was so sad, you know how sensitive I am to other people’s feelings, I can't help, I'm deeply empathetic - and then he just kissed me, out of nowhere, I didn’t even see it coming, and I have to say I didn’t kiss him back, which is very commendable in this situation, don't you think? It was just a peck, a one-sided peck. It didn't mean anything, it was sorta like a goodbye kiss? Anyway... I wouldn't have even hugged him if I'd known he'd do that, I swear, you have to believe me. That’s it. I turned around and left. I’m so sorry."

Derek huffs. He drops the last glass into the box and sits down onto the kitchen tiles.

Stiles sits next to him. They both lean against the cabinets. Stiles takes Derek’s hand in his, unbelievably relieved that he actually lets him.

"We have to take off the curtains next. And do the bathroom," Derek says.

"Please, Derek," Stiles tries and brings his hand up, kissing Derek’s palm. "Don’t be mad."

"I’m not mad. I wish it didn't bother me this much. But it does and... I can't help it. I’m a just sad, because you promised…" Derek sighs in defeat and finally relents, pulling Stiles into his lap. "But it was a stupid promise I made you make to begin with, I guess. I just didn't want him to touch you. And frankly, I could smash his head now for kissing you. He really shouldn't have done that."

Stiles sighs. "It was a really jerk move."

"Yes. I'll never allow him near you again, that's for sure. And he has only himself to blame."

"But it's over now, right? Let the bygones be bygones and all that jazz... Right? Derek?"

Derek tsks. "Especially because..." and his voice trails off as he pets Stiles' back.

"Especially because?"

"Especially because… I kind of liked him."

"What?!" Stiles squeals and slaps Derek in the chest with the back of his hand. "You sly dog, you! You never said! What, so you liked Sam?"

Derek finally smirks. "I remember, back in Beacon Hills, before I met him, I really expected that I would hate him on the spot. I dreaded meeting him, meeting you and him together. But then I did meet him, and he was just this sweet guy, unintimidating and easy-going, and I… didn’t hate him, I guess, even though I wanted to."

"Aw, babe, you’re so sweet," Stiles coos and tries going for a kiss, but Derek turns his head away.

"Don’t even think about kissing me before you brush your teeth and take a shower. Twice."

"Oooohh," Stiles teases and digs his hands into Derek’s ribs. "You afraid I’m gonna give you Sam cooties? Come on, give me a kiss," Stiles chases Derek’s face, but Derek’s so much bigger and stronger and he just keeps Stiles in place with his steel grip.

"Stop it, you’ll hurt yourself,’ Derek says when Stiles keeps struggling to get to his mouth. Instead, he gently cups Stiles’ head and brings it to his chest.

Stiles settles into his arms.

"I did think he was cute. Instead of hating him, I hated myself even more after I’d met him. He had all the answers. He had you. He knew how to love you. I didn’t."

Stiles' heart breaks a little. Oh, if he could turn back time. He'd do everything differently.

"Derek…" Stiles raises his head, serious. "Sam’s love for me… It was like the foliage in the woods. Time would change it, I was sure, and it did. If he loved me with all the powers of his being, he wouldn’t love me as much in eighty years as I do you in one day."

Derek frowns. "Are you quoting Wuthering Heights to me?"

"More like paraphrasing," Stiles chuckles. "But admit it, you're so Heathcliff, don't you think?"

Derek pinches his ass a little. "You do drive me mad, Catherine!"

"But I am serious, Derek. Don’t make me compare, because it’s tacky and unnecessary, but I can if you want me. And I will say it. You’re always, always in my mind, always a part of me, as my own being. I’d leave a thousand Sams for you and never look back. You’re my one true love."

Derek lets out a contented sigh. "I am?" he asks shyly.

"Yes. Even Mrs. Kowalski thinks so."

Derek laughs. "She does?"

"Mhm. She says you better treat me right." Stiles changes his voice into heavy Polish accent. "_Tell that boy o’ yours to take good care o’ you because you don’t got no eyes for nobody else an’ that can never be a good thing to be so crazy ‘bout another person_, she said."

Derek lifts Stiles’ face and kisses him then, sighing a little. "Smart woman, that Mrs. Kowalski."

Stiles accepts the kiss gratefully, his chest swelling with love. "What about them cooties?" Stiles murmurs against his lips.

"Werewolf here, remember? I’m immune. But," Derek lifts them from the floor. "You should really take that shower. Let’s go to bed."

They sleep that night on their bed without sheets because they packed them all and leave for Beacon Hills ‘before the roosters’ early in the morning.

***

"So," Scott turns a little in the stairway - an achievement of epic proportions, considering that he’s carrying two huge boxes of Stiles’ stuff in his arms. "Are you two together-together now?"

Stiles manages to glare at him over his own stack of boxes. "_Yeees_." Stiles speaks slowly and enunciates. "You’re literally moving my stuff into his apartment right now. What did you think, Scotty? That we’re gonna be roomies?"

Scott resumes climbing the stairs and he isn’t even slightly out of breath. Stiles is so jealous. He’s already sweating bullets.

"So, did you leave Sam?"

Stiles nearly brains himself against the railing. Unbelievable. Maybe having children does this to a person? Fries up a million brain cells. Or maybe Scot's just had sex with Kira and he's now sex stupid. If such a thing even exists.

"Are you kidding me right now? No, I’m still with Sam and he’s gonna be my boy toy whenever I have a business trip to San Francisco. Are you insane? Jesus..." Stiles pants and tries to look back to see if Derek’s close. "And don’t mention Sam in front of Derek, please, Scotty."

"Ohhh, Derek's jealous! I’m gonna eat his liver over this!"

"No, no, no, don’t do that to me, bro! He's not jealous! It’s like a… sensitive topic," Stiles hisses. "Derek’s not jealous, he’s just… well, _sensitive_. Trust me, it would cause unnecessary complications that I have no will or power to endure. And hurry up, man, I’m dying here!"

After a few more steps, Derek and Boyd reach them.

"You guys still climbing? We went down like five minutes ago," Boyd says.

"_Thank you, Boyd_," Stiles says with all the sarcasm his collapsing body can muster.

"You go up with Scott," Derek tells Boyd and then puts down his boxes. He takes Stiles’ from his arms and just stacks them onto his own.

Stiles squeals a little and leans against the wall in relief, his arms tingling with feeling returning into them. "My hero", he says trying to give Derek heart eyes, but only manages to look like he's going to have a stroke.

Derek smiles at him and pecks him on the lips. He bends down and lifts all the boxes without batting an eyelash. "Come upstairs with me. You’re done for today," he tells Stiles, and Stiles follows him obediently.

"I must be coming down with something. I’m normally much sturdier, I swear," Stiles mumbles, and Derek just loses it. He starts chortling, his whole body shaking with laughter, the boxes in his arms wobbling dangerously, and Stiles huffs indignantly. "Hey, hey, hey! Careful there, muscle boy! You could drop that stuff and squish me like a bug."

He straightens up and tries to walk more peppily. "I‘ll have you know I’m deceptively svelte. There’s real power in this lean machine that is my body. Yes, sir."

Derek speeds up, still chuckling.

Stiles puts his hands over his ass and pushes. "See, I’m helping. I’m incredibly helpful. I bet your gorgeous ass you couldn’t even go up without my help. Mhm. Flex those glutes," he says and squeezes Derek for good measure.

But then someone clears their throat behind them and Stiles drops his hands from Derek’s ass like it’s hot potato. "Dad!" he croaks.

"Son," John says in that monotone that usually means nothing Stiles does can ever surprise him again. Like he's accepted all of his son's quirks and learned to live with them.

"I carried five boxes all by myself! Derek… he just took these two because he wants to work on his biceps more."

"Is that so?" John says, his voice drier than the Sahara. "And you were working on his gluteus maximus?"

Stiles blushes fire truck red. "Oh, my god, Dad. No need to embarrass your own flesh and blood here. Your favorite son."

"You’re my only son."

"The fruit of your loins."

"Son, I will pay whatever it takes for you to not say that ever again."

Mercifully, they reach Derek’s apartment and Stiles disappears inside the bathroom to recuperate from his utter exhaustion and all-around embarrassment.

It takes Boyd, Scott and Derek two more tours, but then everything is finally up and Stiles fills up two huge pitchers with freshly squeezed lemonade and pours everyone a glass. They all stand between the boxes and look around, content with the job well done.

It looks like a new start. Everyone’s a little excited.

Scott clears his throat and lifts his glass. "Stiles, Derek - let me wish you both an official welcome. Stiles. My brother. I missed you like crazy and I couldn’t be happier that you’re finally back home. And Derek – thank you for bringing him back. Also, if you hurt him, I’ll -- Well, I’ll be really sad, so please don’t do it. Anyway. Kira’s making dinner tomorrow night and you’re all invited. The girls can’t wait to see you."

Stiles' heart swells with love for Scott. "Thanks, man. We’ll be there, of course. And… I missed all of you, too. The girls, and Tommy."

Boyd squeezes Stiles’ shoulder.

"I’m happy to be back." Stiles’ eyes are shiny and the sheriff seems a little emotional, too.

Their sweet reunion is interrupted, though, when Lydia and Jackson barge into the apartment. "I hear you two dicks have finally pulled your heads out of your asses," Jackson yells, but then he sees John and has the decency to look a little embarrassed. "Sorry, Sheriff," he says.

Lydia rolls her eyes. "Stilinski, Hale, welcome. Dinner tomorrow night at the McCalls. Don’t bring anything, everything’s already arranged. If you need help decorating the apartment, my assistance is available. Just notify me in advance, yes? Good. Now, gentlemen, I believe it’s time for us to go," she says and shoos everyone out of the apartment, even the confused looking John.

She turns around at the door and winks at Stiles. "You can thank me later," she smirks and disappears in a cloud of flaming red hair and Chanel 5.

Stiles is impressed.

Silence envelops them then. Derek and Stiles look at each other, a little stunned and overwhelmed, and smile at the same time.

"What was that?" Stiles wonders.

"That’s pack for you. Any regrets?"

"Hell, no! You?"

Derek comes to him, and pulls him by his jeans until they’re pressed together. "No regrets whatsoever. Welcome home, baby," Derek says and kisses him.

"You know," Stiles chimes in when he resurfaces for breath. "I think this has been the longest time we’ve gone without kissing. How long has it been? More than three hours, I believe. It's unacceptable."

"I kissed you on the stairs. And by the truck. And here. Way less than three hours, I'd say."

"Pft. Pecks, not kisses, Derek. They don't count. I can’t be dating someone who does not differentiate between a kiss and a peck. Let me rephrase--," Stiles is gearing up to launch into a tirade about what constitutes a kiss, but Derek hauls him up in his arms and carries him to the bedroom. He flops Stiles onto the bed.

"-- tongues need to be involved. And bodily fluids exchanged. Possibly teeth."

"Shall we shower together? The sheets are clean. Erica came earlier and cleaned up a little, Boyd told me."

"Are you even listening to me?"

"Yes, Stiles. Spit. Teeth. Tongue. Aren’t you tired? Let me go find some clean clothes and towels for us."

Derek’s gone for less than five minutes, but when he returns, Stiles is already hugging his pillow and snoring softly against it.

Derek smiles. He feels overwhelmed by this moment a little. He wants to remember it forever. He pulls out his phone and turns the camera on. He looks at Stiles through it, his face so young and relaxed, his heart-shaped lips slightly open, sweet and delicious, and Derek snaps several photos.

He picks one and opens his messages. _Finally home_, he types. He attaches the picture and sends it to Cora. Satisfied, he lies next to Stiles and closes his eyes.


	6. Just To Keep You Safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Stiles' first day at work and Derek's senses go into overdrive. He has to do something.

Stiles gives himself a good once over in the large mirror on their closet door and pouts a little. "I think the uniform would fit me better if it was one size up. Hmm? What do you say, Der?"

They’re in their bedroom and Derek is still lying in bed, only in his underwear like the tease he is, looking at Stiles while he’s getting ready for his first day of work, and judging. Heavily.

Stiles knows it. He can tell when he’s being judged by Derek because Derek goes all pre-verbal and stoic, like he needs special skills just to endure all the horrible suffering Stiles has inflicted upon him.

"It’s just a little too tight in the shoulders," Stiles says. "And I’d appreciate some more give around my butt. It'd be more comfortable when I sit."

He looks sideways at his reflection. "I don’t see why I have to wear the uniform at all. It’s not like I’m a police officer."

Derek flips onto his side and finally speaks up. "Exactly. I don’t like it. I think you shouldn’t."

"Shouldn't what? Wear it? I have to, babe. Sheriff's orders."

Derek just hums, displeased.

"Anyway. What do you think? Is it good?" Stiles questions. When Derek remains quiet, Stiles teases. "Aw, honey, you don’t think I’m handsome?"

"It makes you an easy target. I hate it," Derek finally says without any real heat.

Strong words from Derek.

Stiles looks at Derek’s almost naked figure against their sheets and feels only warmth and happiness. He's never been the most confident guy out there and that feeling of self-consciousness has increased when he started dating Derek. But then Derek himself has taught him out of that pretty quickly, mainly by being constantly aroused around Stiles and showering him with praise every chance he got.

Even now, and even despite being clearly a little upset and worried about Stiles' safety, Stiles can see the outline of Derek's underwear which is clearly more tented than half an hour ago. Must be from all of Stiles’ peacocking in front of the mirror.

Derek rolls to his back again and props his head with a pillow. "I think it’s not safe. Less safe in any case. I don’t like it."

"You do know I won’t be doing any actual police work. You know why Dad hired me. It’s just IT work, data organization, file supervision, things like that."

"You could have gotten a job somewhere else, I’m just saying. Anywhere else. Not in a place where criminals come every day. Where there are guns. And wearing that stupid uniform. I can’t believe that John thought this was a smart idea."

Stiles’ chest puffs up a little at Derek’s concern, filling with love for his man. He walks towards the bed and sits next to Derek. "Look… I know you’re concerned and I appreciate it, really…" Stiles puts his hand on Derek’s leg and strokes it gently upwards, towards his powerful thigh, enjoying the feeling of his body hair against his own palm. Derek’s just too damn hot. "And when I come back tonight I’ll show you exactly how much I appreciate it. Why can’t you just tell me I’m cute now so that I can go to work happy?"

Derek surges up and gives him a bruising kiss. "Cute? You're more than cute. I think you’re hot, you drive me crazy in that tight little uniform and I want to rip it off of you, for so many reasons," he says hotly and grabs Stiles’ hand, putting it over his erection. "But you’re gonna be late, and I don’t want to piss the sheriff off. I need to stay on his good side."

Stiles groans, but he can't help squeezing Derek through his briefs, just a little; it feels hot and swollen in his hand. "Wait for me tonight, will you? I’ll miss you."

"I’ll miss you, too. Go," Derek says and slaps his butt when Stiles gets up to leave. "Your lunch is on the counter."

Stiles rushes down the stairs.

"And don’t fraternize with other officers!" Derek shouts after him.

Stiles snorts and grabs the lunch Derek prepared for him. "As if. They’ve met you, remember? I don’t think they’d dare."

"Good," Derek says darkly, but Stiles doesn't hear him.

Stiles leaves, happy and elated, and feeling like his life is this huge bowl of rainbows and sunshine with a sparkly bow on it.

***

While they were living in San Francisco, Stiles worked for an IT company, and Derek thought he would find a similar job when they came back to Beacon Hills. And he did, only it was for the Police Department.

Stiles thought it was an excellent idea, thrilled to have the opportunity to be so close to his dad every day.

Derek didn't. He tried to reason with Stiles, but those were all futile endeavors. He even tried telling him Stiles didn’t need to work at all, because Derek was loaded. He could support them both.

And that particular conversation turned out to be an absolute disaster. He was told in no uncertain terms, "I’m not your little housewife, Derek, I won’t live off of you. _Capisce_?" and Derek shut his mouth pretty quickly. "If you know what’s good for you."

Derek did shut his mouth, temporarily – but he was going to find a solution no matter what. It just wasn’t safe enough for Stiles to work there and Derek was worried sick. For a town this small, Beacon Hills was plagued with too large a variety of various villains and creatures of the night.

He’d think of something. He had to.

Without getting too much on Stiles' nerves, of course.

***

Stiles comes back home around six that night and Derek pounces on him as soon as he’s inside.

"Hey!" Stiles gasps, smiling. "Look who’s missed me! Aw, I missed you, too, big guy."

He smells of old paper and gun oil, of computer dust and too much coffee. But underneath it all, and some faint traces of his cologne he put on this morning, he mostly smells like Derek’s Stiles. He smells uniquely of Derek's mate. Derek would know his scent in a million. He’s addicted to it.

Derek kisses him and lifts him off the ground, holding him tight around the waist. When Stiles manages to chuckle, Derek starts walking him slowly back to the bedroom.

"Derek! I gotta pee! And I’m hungry. Can't we do this later?"

Derek growls. He lays Stiles on the bed and starts undressing him. He wants to rip that damned uniform off.

"If you fuck me now, I’ll pee all over you!"

Derek just smirks.

Stiles gapes at him.

"You wouldn’t even mind," Stiles whispers, stunned, the realization dawning on him. "You freak. Think of the sheets, Derek! They’re perfectly good sheets. We chose them together and everything."

Derek strips everything off of him, throwing the bits and pieces of his clothing around without care. Stiles is so going to make him iron the uniform later.

"Relax," he says.

And Stiles does, like Derek's command cut the strings in Stiles' limbs that made him all taut and rigid. He melts against the bedding, but then Derek pulls him slowly up, and helps him to the bathroom. He nudges Stiles in front of the toilet. "Go."

Stiles looks at him incredulously. "Turn around at least, would you? I can’t go if you’re looking. In fact, why don’t you get out and wait for me there?"

But Derek just crosses his arms and stares at him. His muscles bulge threateningly, and Stiles gulps. "Really? Oh my god. What's gotten into you today... All right, all right. Fucking hell, Derek. You could at least take your clothes off. I feel… exposed," Stiles says daintily and eyes Derek, still fully clothed, trying to signal the unfairness of the situation.

Stiles expects Derek to ignore him, but he surprises him again. He starts stripping, and Stiles manages to relax enough to actually pee.

He flushes with embarrassment anyway. "I can’t believe what you’re doing to me," he mumbles.

As soon as he’s finished, Derek takes him by the arm and turns him around.

They’re both naked now, and Stiles doesn’t have time to start wondering what’ll happen next when Derek drops softly on his knees and swallows him whole. He isn’t even hard yet. "Oh. Oh my god. Derek," Stiles gasps and stutters. "It’s not… not even sanitary, oh my lord, you lunatic..."

Derek’s mouth is so hot and wet and Stiles almost gets dizzy when all his blood rushes down there. He gets fully hard in seconds and has to grab Derek's shoulders so as he wouldn't fall. Derek thoroughly licks him everywhere, until he’s dripping with his saliva, and gives him a good suck soon enough.

Stiles' knees buckle. Derek feels it of course and pushes Stiles slowly back until he’s leaning against the counter. Stiles grabs the edges and just holds on for dear life, his fingers gripping the marble until the knuckles turn white. "Babe… I’m gonna come… and I’m fine with that, I am… but you could fuck me… you know, if you want... and that would be also fine… I'm just putting it out there... so fine... more than fine… actually…"

Derek lets his dick drop from his mouth with a pop. "Yeah?"

"Mhm," Stiles pants. He looks at Derek’s naked body crouched before him, his huge dick flushed red and pressed hard against his muscled stomach, and wants. "Yeah."

Derek stands up and lifts Stiles on the counter-top in one clear motion, and pulls him forward until his ass is on the very edge of it. He grabs Stiles by the ankles and lifts his legs up, planting his feet on both sides of his butt.

Stiles can’t help but blush furiously. Which is pretty incredible. After everything they’ve done, and all the sex they’ve had, he can’t believe he has it in him to still get embarrassed, but here he is, his ass cheeks spread as far as they could go, his hole exposed entirely, and he can’t help it.

Derek of course notices it. He strokes Stiles’ legs gently and smiles. "You’re stunning," he whispers. "I wish you could see yourself. I wish the mirror was in front of you, not behind your back."

He grabs the lube from the drawer and Stiles leans carefully against the mirror, watching. He expects to feel Derek’s finger next, but Derek puts the lube down, presses his hands on the insides of Stiles' thighs and buries his face between his legs. Stiles yelps a little when he feels his tongue against his sensitive skin. His hole is already a little relaxed with anticipation and when Derek starts licking and sucking on it, it opens up beautifully, fluttering around the tip of Derek's tongue.

Stiles loves it, but he really, really needs to be fucked, right now.

He knows Derek knows it. He can see him watching Stiles’ dick, which is dripping with precome, and he knows that Derek sees Stiles’ balls, which have gotten so tight and ready to ejaculate. But, he also knows that Derek is nothing if not precise. He pulls his tongue out mere seconds before Stiles goes off.

He fingers him then, gradually, and doesn’t cave until he’s moving three of his fingers inside and out with ease, despite Stiles' begging. He rubs Stiles’ rim with his wet thumb as he scissors him and Stiles mewls. He can’t move, he can’t do anything. His ass is plastered to the marble, his legs are useless. If he moves them, he’ll fall down. He’s at Derek’s mercy.

Finally, oh god, finally, Derek wets his dick with lube and presses the head against Stiles.

They don’t talk. Stiles is already falling apart and Derek looks like he’s about to explode, coiled and taut.

Stiles breathes through the initial breach, practiced, but the hard surface under him is making things a little more difficult than normal because it’s pressing him from the downside. Stiles wiggles his hips a bit towards Derek as far as he can and Derek’s dick pops inside.

Stiles can’t help it, he cries out a little, his sweaty palms sliding down the marble, his legs opening even wider. He is stretched and filled to the brim, and when Derek fucks into him, it pushes his entire body back. They start rocking like that, Derek’s thrusts pushing him back and the gravity pulling him forward naturally, and Stiles loses himself in the rhythm, completely relaxed, his entire focus centered around the incredible feeling of Derek’s erection stroking him from the inside.

He looks down his stomach at one point, when he's been on the brink of an orgasm for so long, and sees his own dick, ropes of come spurting out of it. He didn’t even notice. Pleasant warmth rushes through him, scorching him from head to toes, and he grunts. "Derek…" Stiles manages before his entire body liquefies.

Derek looks at him hotly. He looks so goddamn proud for making Stiles come like this, untouched, and Stiles sees him convulse before he feels him coming inside of him. Derek lets out a few ragged breaths, panting, spent and exhausted; but he lifts Stiles up with ease from the counter, cradling him in his arms, without even pulling out.

Stiles clutches onto him.

"I'm taking you to bed."

He lies them gently down together. He brushes his hands over entire Stiles' body; he straightens Stiles’ legs, stroking them and squeezing them a little, clearly worried that they’ve gone numb from being in the same position for too long.

"I’m fine," Stiles yawns. "Worrywart," he says affectionately and pulls Derek towards him for a kiss.

Derek indulges him for a minute or two. They cuddle for a while, but then Derek jumps up from the bed.

"Wh're you goin'?" Stiles slurs, half-asleep. He’s always so sleepy after sex.

Derek grabs his shirt and sweatpants. "I’m bringing you something to eat. Or do you want to come down?"

"No, no," Stiles says lazily. "Dinn'r in bed sounds aw's'me. You’re awesome. Eeeeeverything is awesomeee..."

Derek chuckles and throws him the tv remote. "Here. Watch something until I get back," he says and leaves the room.

"Derek Hale!" Stiles yells after him. "I love you! I loooooove you, you hear me!"

Derek laughs all the way down the stairs and through making Stiles dinner (he just microwaves the green beans and chicken breast he’s already prepared before Stiles came home. He pours them a glass of nice white wine each and chops them a bowl of strawberries for desert).

He loves Stiles, too. So much. He’s going to tell him that as soon as he returns to the bedroom. He runs upstairs with a tray filled to the brim and manages to not spill anything.

***

A few days later, Stiles is swiveling in his office chair, contemplating where to go during his lunch break. He definitely wants to go out. Until today, he's always stayed in because Derek makes his lunches for him, claiming it's a much healthier option than any junk Stiles could get by going out, and Stiles has totally agreed. It's a turkey sandwich with salad today, he thinks.

But the weather is just too nice for him to gulf down a sandwich in this dark office and Stiles wants to make the best of it. "Yo, Parrish! I’m taking a break. I’ll be back in an hour, tops."

Parrish looks up from his computer. "Um. I thought you brought your lunch with you."

"I did. Derek packed it for me. I just changed my mind. I’ll put it in the fridge. It’ll keep," Stiles says as he gets up to leave. "Or you can have it, if you want?"

"No, no, thanks, wait just a sec," Parrish quickly turns his computer off and stands in front of him. "I’ll come with."

"But," Stiles frowns, confused. "Didn’t the Sheriff say that someone always needs to be here, to man the office?"

Parrish’ ears pink a little. "He did. I think he meant specifically you."

Stiles just stands there, stupefied. "What. So, you can leave the office, and of course you can, why couldn't you, you’re a police officer, doing police work, and I can’t? Why not? What am I, an office rat? A… a… a desk potato? What the hell, Parrish?"

Parrish raises his hands calmly. "Of course you can leave the office. Just - not alone. Look, Stiles, why don’t you go talk to the Sheriff? I’m just doing my duty here."

"Oh. Your duty. Of babysitting me," Stiles seethes. "Oh, I’ll go talk to him all right. He’s gonna get an earful. The nerve…"

Stiles stomps towards his father’s office, the rightful anger bubbling up inside of him. He doesn’t even knock, he’s so pissed. He bangs the door open and stops dead in his tracks.

He blinks.

"Stiles. You’re interrupting. Go wait outside," his father says, clearly finding Stiles' behavior unacceptable.

Stiles looks at his dad and then he looks at Derek. Who’s sitting in his father’s office. In the chair in front of his father’s desk. And who’s currently looking at Stiles with a blank expression on his face.

Stiles is stunned. "What’s going on?" he asks apprehensively. Derek didn’t tell him he would be coming to the police department today. Something’s going on.

"Stiles," John repeats, a little more threateningly.

"No! You know what? I’m not going to wait outside. I’m not leaving. I want to know what Derek’s doing here, and why I can’t leave the office, and why no one tells me anything around here, and why the two most important people in my life are doing things behind my back!"

Derek gets up and approaches him. "Hey. Stiles, calm down. Your heartbeat is through the roof." His voice is soft and concerned.

Stiles gulps. He looks at Derek pleadingly. "What’s going on, Der? Why are you here? You didn't tell me you'd stop by."

John clears his throat. "He’s here for a job interview. And we would tell you as soon as it was over. No one’s hiding anything from you, son."

"A job interview?" Stiles asks weakly. "Derek?"

"Sorry I didn’t say anything." Derek lifts his hand and strokes Stiles’ cheek in comfort. "I knew you’d probably object to the idea, and I just wanted to speak to John first, see what he thinks, before I discuss it with you. I didn’t mean to upset you."

"And I think it’s a phenomenal idea," John says. "God knows we need some help around here, and Derek would be a wonderful asset to the police. He’s strong, he’s capable, and most importantly, he’ll be invaluable for all the supernatural cases."

If only Stiles could share his father's optimism.

Stiles bites his lips in impotent frustration. "Right. Father. You know why he is really here. Don’t play dumb. He’s here to keep his eye on me, and you know it! And you're collaborating with him. Enabling him. I can’t even go out for lunch! Did you sic Parrish on me? Is he my guard dog?"

"Stiles, enough," John says firmly. "Yes, I do know what Derek’s primary motive is, and I can’t say that I mind, to tell you the truth. You fall into trouble easier than plums into pie and I think Derek’s right to be concerned. Me, as well. And no, I did not sic Parrish on you – Derek and I just agreed that you shouldn’t leave the department alone. It’s not safe."

"Derek and you agreed," Stiles repeats dumbly. "Well, then. Who am I to object? Why would any of you care what I have to say? Poor little Stiles, he needs to be taken care of 24/7, right…" His protests tamper off when he realizes that he sounds like a petulant child, his anger quickly losing its wind. "I wish you told me, is all."

The truth is, for all of his posturing, Stiles isn’t really that oblivious and he knows. He knows how terrifying things get in the streets. He knows the town is filled with danger of all sorts. He can't even remember why he got so upset. His father is right, he does get into trouble a lot, and Derek... Derek just wants to keep him safe. Stiles blinks a few times and bites his lips.

"Hey," Derek says softly. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I thought that if John didn't want me here it would maybe upset you so it would be better if you didn't know, and I wasn't sure it was a good idea to begin with so I wanted to talk to him first anyway before talking to you. Besides, you know I won’t do it if you mind it that much. Just… in that case, please, let Parrish accompany you if you need to go out."

"I—I…," Stiles stammers. "I don’t know."

"Would it be so bad? Afraid you’re going to get tired of being around me all day and night?" Derek jokes.

Stiles shakes his head, still confused. "No, you know that. I could never grow tired of you."

Derek cups his face with his hands. "Well then? What do you say? We won’t be together all the time, I’d be mostly out on the streets, but I’d be around enough to take good care of you. And take you out for lunch. Hm?"

Stiles nods meekly. "Okay."

"Okay?" Derek checks once again, smiling.

When Stiles nods again, his face squished in Derek’s hold, Derek kisses him. Stiles wraps his arms around Derek’s shoulders then, melting in his embrace, returning the affection.

John clears his throat. "Boys."

When they don't even register it, he snaps. "Boys!"

Derek and Stiles jump apart like scalded cats.

John raises his finger. "No funny business on the job. And no hanky-panky on the premises, either. That’s rule number one. I expect strictly professional behavior from both of you."

"Yes, sir," Derek says.

Stiles just grins. Suddenly, a bright future of annoying his father opens up before him and he _loves_ it.

John nods. "Good then. It's settled. Dinner tonight, my place. I’ll be watching the game while you two slave over the stove. Any objections? Derek, Stiles?"

"No, sir," Derek says and Stiles eyes him incredulously. The traitor.

"Oh, I'll slave over the stove all right. Sure thing. Making you veggie patties!" Stiles says meanly.

John clutches his heart in mock offense.

"And tofu salad!" Stiles throws in for good measure.

Derek grabs Stiles by the arm and starts dragging him outside. "Goodbye, sir. We'll arrange something!" He manages to turn around and wink at John reassuringly before they disappear.

***

John smacks his lips contentedly when they leave. His son chose well. Derek's a good man.

Kid did good. Just like his old man, John thinks, smiling to himself. He would have chosen Claudia every time. She was the one for him. Stiles takes after him in that regard, John guesses. John is so proud.


	7. This Little Piggy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pack celebrates Tommy's birthday. 
> 
> They want to stage an intervention due to Derek and Stiles' unacceptable behavior.

Kira, Lydia, Boyd and Scott are sitting in a row at the garden table, matching frowning expressions on their faces, and just _look_.

No one else seems to notice whatever it is that's occupying their attention, though - Erica's running after the kids and Jackson drew the short straw and is currently picking up the squished bits and pieces of food and cake scattered around the lawn.

It's Tommy's birthday today and, upon silent agreement by all parties involved, the kids have been allowed to do whatever they want, including running around with food in their hands and eating it off the table. Why not, after all - it is too hot to have any energy for good parenting _and_ uncle Jackson's there to clean up after them. All perfectly valid reasons.

"Boyd, where did you put Tommy's cap, I can't find it..." Erica asks, but they all shush her.

"Not now, Erica," Lydia whispers. "Look."

Erica follows their focused gazes and sees only Derek and Stiles sitting next to each other at the other end of the table. Nothing unusual. They _are_ almost plastered together, but that's just how they usually sit. "What?"

"Just listen," says Scott.

The couple in question are still eating and conversing at the same time. "Did you try the tzatziki salad?" Derek asks softly.

"Which one is that?" Stiles asks in return.

"This one. With cucumbers and yogurt." Derek scoops some in his spoon and brings it to Stiles' mouth. "Here. It's so fresh."

"You know cucumbers make my belly hurt," Stiles says, but he still opens his mouth.

"Only pickles, this is made with raw ones. You know I'd never give you anything bad for you."

"Aw, baby," Stiles coos as he chews and some of the yogurt finishes on his chin, but Derek just licks it off. And then he kisses Stiles for good measure.

"Gross," Scott hisses from the other end of the table but Derek and Stiles don't notice him at all, too occupied with one another. They wouldn't notice him if he sat on the table and yelled in their faces, it seems.

Kira punches him in the ribs.

"I tried to take out that stain from your white shirt, the linen one, and it's still there. It's only gotten a little paler," Stiles says.

"Did you put Vanish Stain Remover on it first?" Derek asks. "Soak it in detergent afterwords?"

"Mhm," Stiles says as he nibbles on the shrimps. "I told you to take it off before feeding Kinsley, remember, but you wouldn't listen. She always throws food at you."

Derek rolls his eyes and kisses him. Stiles is still holding a shrimp in his hand, but he turns his head towards Derek anyway and they peck and nibble at each other's lips several times. Stiles lets out a content sigh and plops the shrimp inside his mouth.

"Hey, Derek!" Lydia says and Derek and Stiles finally look at the pack. "Deaton says there are selkies in town."

Derek nods absentmindedly.

"Okay," Stiles says.

Derek turns back to him. "I thought we could maybe go on a trip this weekend? Leave Friday evening after work, have a nice dinner somewhere, get a motel, then go to a beach Saturday. We could rent a boat. Stay until Sunday afternoon. What do you say?" he asks as he pets Stiles' back.

Stiles grins at him helplessly.

"All right, that's it," Lydia throws her napkin on the table. "This is unacceptable!"

"_Are_ there selkies, for real? Where?" Scott asks, wide-eyed. 

Lydia rolls her eyes. 

"What is unacceptable?" John asks as he gets back from the grill and brings even more food to the table.

"Stiles and Derek are disgusting," Scott says.

Kira swats him again. "What Scott means to say is that they seem to be a little... lost. They're a little too absorbed with one another."

John looks at the pair and sees them kissing again.

"The pack business is suffering because they can't keep their hands or minds off of each other," Lydia says darkly.

"Last week I called them because there was a runaway omega skirting our borders," Scott adds, "and Derek told me to handle it myself because Stiles' stomach was upset. Can you believe that?"

John takes a chair and joins the group. "Actually, I can." He leans towards everyone and whispers. "Listen to this. Deputy Estevez caught them _in flagrante delicto_ in the holding cell last week."

"What does that mean?" Scott asks, confused. 

Boyd chuckles.

"It means they were banging, Scott," Lydia replies irritably. "With all due respect, sheriff, but you should have fired them for that on the spot. Frankly, I can't believe you didn't. It's irresponsible, and that's exactly why they're behaving like this, because they're allowed, no one's punishing them for it."

John just sighs and sits back, and they all look at the couple again. They're only holding each other now and nuzzling, seemingly finished with their meal.

"Look at them. As if no one and nothing exists around them," Scott accuses.

"I say we stage an intervention," Erica says.

"I'll make a PowerPoint presentation. I have _proof_," Lydia says. "The exponential decline of their IQs in relation to the progression of their relationship. It's cataclysmic."

But then Kirsten bumps into their chairs and Stiles lifts her up, placing her across both their laps. Stiles cleans her face and hands with a napkin and then proceeds to play with her toes, speaking to her softly, and Derek starts braiding her hair. 

The pack watches them in silence. John sighs again and takes out his phone. He directs it towards Derek, Kirsten and Stiles and takes a picture.

"Maybe we could wait a little while more. Give them some time," Kira says.

"A month, tops," Scott says.

"A month?" Boyd snorts. "Good luck with that."

Kirsten starts giggling and they listen in. 

Stiles is holding her big toe gently. "This little piggy went to market," he coos and grabs her next toe, "this little piggy stayed home. This little piggy," Stiles continues as he takes the middle toe, Kirsten laughing and squirming against Derek's chest, "--had roast beef, this little piggy had none. This little piggy went... Wee, wee, wee, all the way home!" he says as he tickles her pinky toe, the girl giggling happily. After she calms a little and both Derek and he kiss her soft cheeks, Stiles puts her down carefully and she dashes off.

The pack lets out a collective sigh. 

"So," Scott says.

"Who wants to play cards?" Kira suggests chirpily.

They all murmur their agreements and get up, scattering around the yard and taking stuff back to the house. "Oh, no," Jackson shouts from under the tree house where Tommy apparently decided to get more cake by growing it, so he planted some next to the tree. Jackson wipes his forehead and starts scraping it from the ground. "By all means, keep chilling. I'll do it all by myself. No need to get up." 

John goes back to clean the grill. He takes one more look back at his son, and finds him in Derek's arms again, looking at Derek with shiny, adoring eyes.

Hard as he tries, he can't think of a single reason to do anything about it other than be insanely, ecstatically happy. 


End file.
